


Lie Low At Lupin's

by shessocold



Series: I Told I'd Always Love You, I Always Did, I Always Will [21]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Bathing/Washing, Body Image, Canon Compliant, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exes, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Guilt, Haircuts, Happy Ending, Happy Sex, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Kissing, Lie Low At Lupin's, M/M, Paranoia, Second War with Voldemort, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 13:51:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13032513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shessocold/pseuds/shessocold
Summary: You know what this is.





	1. Chapter 1

_“I'm here.”_

The Patronus comes when Remus is almost ready to turn in for the night. He stares at it for a second, almost in disbelief – it has been thirteen years since he last saw it – and then he jumps out of his chair and runs out of the front door, and into the yard. Sirius is there, standing just outside the gate. 

He looks almost as bad as he did the last time they met, Remus thinks, and the feeling of guilt – _if only I had remembered my potion, if only we had cleared his name, if only..._ – nearly overwhelms him. But then Sirius smiles at him – his skin waxy, his teeth ruined, but his eyes still as bright as anything – and Remus starts running again, until they are face to face, and then they throw themselves into each other's arms. They hug in silence for what to Remus feels both like a very long time and not nearly enough, Sirius' warm cheek against Remus' neck, his thin arms wrapped around him, his heart beating madly through his bony chest – and then Sirius speaks. 

“He's back, Remus. Voldemort is back,” he whispers, and for a second Remus almost allows himself to believe he has gone insane. But he hasn't, of course. Not Sirius. “The war is starting again.” 

“What can we do?” Remus hears himself whisper in response, even though he has hundreds of more pressing questions swimming through his mind. 

“There's nothing more to do tonight,” says Sirius, his face still hidden against Remus' neck, but his voice firmer. “I already alerted Mundungus Fletcher and Arabella Figg. Moody is with Dumbledore, the Weasleys know. The Order is re-forming.” 

“Is Harry safe?” 

Sirius nods. 

“I left him with Dumbledore,” he says, with just a hint of bitterness. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

Sirius shakes his head, his unshaven face rough against the skin of Remus' neck. 

“Can I do it tomorrow morning? I just want one night of normalcy. I'll tell you everything, but not tonight,” he says, and to his shock Remus feels what could very well be a tear roll from his cheek. Six years of friendship, four years together, the most devastating of breakups, _a bloody war_ , and yet Sirius had never before cried in front of him. Remus pats him gingerly on his bony back. 

“Of course, Padfoot,” he says soothingly, reverting to the old school nickname without fully realizing it. “Everything you want. Come inside, I'll fix you something to eat.” 

** 

Inside Remus' modest but tidy living room, Sirius' ragged prison robes look even more incongruous than they did out in the yard. He stands rigidly in the middle of the room, looking out of the window, apparently not interested in the couch in front of him. Remus wonders if he doesn't want to sit on it because of his dirty clothes, or if he has just lost his familiarity with furniture in general. 

“All right, so what do you want for dinner?” he asks, trying to sound upbeat. Sirius doesn't react immediately. 

“Can I take a bath?” he asks abruptly, turning to face Remus. “And maybe borrow some clothes? I want to take these off and burn them.” 

“Of course,” says Remus, relieved. “Come upstairs.” 

** 

“Please stay,” says Sirius, as Remus is about to leave the bathroom. “If it's not a problem for you. I really don't want to be alone.” 

“All right,” say Remus, sitting down on the closed toilet lid. “Do you need help with those?” he asks, as Sirius' shaky hands fumble with the fastening of his robes. 

“No, thank you, I got it,” says Sirius, lifting the filthy bundle of fabric over his head. He looks even more raggedy and thin than it felt like when they were hugging. Remus can't help but think of how Sirius looked back when they used to get naked together on the regular – just twenty, the most handsome man in the world, his body strong and lean and perfect, his smile dazzling. He feels ashamed of himself, and then he feels an enormous surge of pity – for his poor wasted friend, and also for himself, with his greying hair and his lined face and his shabby robes. They are barely thirty-five, and their youth has been taken away from both of them. Their whole lives have been taken away from them. This makes him think of James and Lily, forever frozen in time, and it's all he can do not to start crying. 

His mind is screaming at him to ask Sirius more about Voldemort, about the war starting back up again, about what could possibly have happened that made him so sure about everything – but Sirius has gotten into the bathtub, and he has his eyes closed and there's an almost peaceful look on his emaciated face, so Remus can't bring himself to force him through whatever it is that he has to tell. _He will tell me tomorrow_ , he says to himself, _he deserves a moment of quiet_. 

“This is so nice,” says Sirius, attempting a smile. “I don't think I've had a proper bath since, er, probably 1981,” he remarks, with a frown, and for a second he looks so much like his normal younger self than Remus can't help but laugh. 

“Well, thanks for telling me,” he jokes. “You know what, with this information in mind I think I will be joining you in a spot of robe-burning, later in the evening,” he says, holding his clothes away from himself in mock disgust. “Nothing personal.” 

To his enormous relief, Sirius laughs too. 

“Yeah, that's probably for the best,” he says, happily. “In your shoes, I definitely would not have hugged me.” 

“You could be covered in dung, and I still would want to hug you,” says Remus, truthfully. 

Sirius smiles. 

“Say, do you think you could cut my hair for me?” he asks, wincing as he runs his hand through it. It is long and matted and filthy. “I haven't got a wand, and even if I had, I really don't trust myself to remember the spell properly. Not to mention,” he says, in another stab at levity, “I have no idea what's considered a nice haircut these days. I wouldn't want to look outdated.” 

“Well, if you're after hair styling tips, mate, you're asking the wrong man,” says Remus, pointing at his own rather unruly mop of curls. Sirius chuckles. “I don't think I've even tried combing my hair since I was about twelve. But let me see what I can do.” 

** 

“I think this is the shortest my hair has even been,” says Sirius, studying himself in a small mirror. “Does it look good? Or do I look stupid?” 

“Well, I'm to blame for it, so even if it did look stupid I wouldn't tell you, would I?” 

“Does it look stupid, then?” 

“It doesn't. You look very handsome,” says Remus, and it's not even a complete lie. Sirius has the kind of face that not even the worst adversities can fully sap the beauty from. “And bizarrely enough, I think this is the first time I've ever seen the tops of your ears. Glad to know you do indeed have them.” 

Sirius grins, hiding his teeth behind his hand in a very transparently self-conscious gesture. He hands the mirror back to Remus. 

“Can I borrow your wand for a while?” he asks, in a casual tone. “I have a few things to put right.” 

** 

Half an hour later, as Remus is about to start frying a couple of eggs, Sirius finally comes downstairs. He has shaved, though not particularly well, and Remus' robes look slightly too baggy on him. 

“I was sort of hoping for shepherd's pie,” he says, stealing a piece of toast from the countertop. 

“That was my original plan,” says Remus, batting his hand away. “But someone had my wand, and it turns out it takes an hour and a half – not to mention a working oven – to cook shepherd's pie the Muggle way. So, eggs it is.” 

“All right, all right. Thank you for feeding me, Moony,” says Sirius, with a big smile. His teeth are back to being very nice. “Here's your wand back. Shall I go and set the table?” 

** 

Sirius polishes off three fried eggs, four slices of bacon, a piece of cheese, and all the bread Remus has in the house. 

“That was excellent,” he says contentedly, stretching his thin arms behind himself. Remus – endeared – starts mentally planning elaborate menus for the coming days, but then it dawns on him that he doesn't even know if Sirius is going to stay for the night. He has promised that he will tell Remus everything in the morning, but that doesn't mean he's not going to say goodnight and go back to wherever he was before he arrived to Remus' place... _wait a minute_ , he suddenly thinks, cold sweat forming on the back of his neck. 

“Sirius,” he asks, in a controlled voice, “how did you cast a Patronus, if you have no wand? How did you even get here, for that matter – we are miles away from any road or village.” 

To his credit, Sirius doesn't seem to find the sudden questioning offensive. After all, as Remus knows all too well, he's no stranger to war-time paranoia either. _Crazy how little it takes to get back into the old mindset_ , thinks Remus, sadly, his hand placed firmly around his wand. 

“Aberforth brought me here,” says Sirius. “He lent me his wand to send my Patronus to you, and then he went back. I had been living in a cave near Hogsmeade for a few months,” he adds, in a tone that suggests that he doesn't think Remus will be satisfied with the explanation he has already given. “After what happened tonight, Dumbledore sent me off to the Hog's Head so that I could use Aberforth's fireplace to talk to the other former members of the Order. My instructions after that were to come to your place, explain the situation to you, and lie low for a while. Provided you're ok with me being here, of course.” 

Remus puts his wand back down. 

“You're welcome to stay for as long as you want,” he says, suddenly ashamed of having once again doubted his poor, battered friend. “And I'm sorry for making you explain yourself. You know how it is.” 

“I do,” says Sirius, nodding. “There's no need to be sorry. I would have done the same.” 

Somehow, Remus doubts it. 

** 

“Moony?” calls Sirius half an hour later, while they're getting ready for bed. “Can I tell you something? But you have to promise that you won't say anything. I just need to get it off my chest.” 

He sounds miserable, and Remus can't think of anything he'd like less than listening to whatever Sirius has to say. 

“Of course,” he says, trying to sound encouraging. “Go ahead.” 

“I never stopped loving you,” says Sirius, his back to Remus. “Even when I became convinced that you had to be the spy. I despised you, but I never stopped loving you. Sometimes...” he trails off, and when he starts back again his voice is hoarse. “Sometimes I wonder if the biggest mistake I ever made was ending things with you. You would have kept me sane. You would have known that telling James and Lily to make Peter their Secret Guardian was a mistake. You would have saved us all.” 

“Sirius...” begins Remus, the blood draining from his face. The truth is that at one point he had stopped loving Sirius, completely. The moment he had learned what Sirius had done, what had become of James and Lily, what had happened to Peter – his love for Sirius, already taunted by suspicion and resentment, had turned easily and immediately into thirst for revenge. Even now that he knows the truth, that he knows full well that he would die for Sirius, that his heart once again swells with love for his friend – even now, Remus can't bring himself to let Sirius meet his eyes, for fear that the stain of twelve years of blind hatred would be plainly visible behind them. He doesn't know how to continue. 

“I told you not to say anything,” says Sirius. “I know that you hated me. I wouldn't have expected anything less from you, and I don't blame you in the slightest. You didn't know about the switch, and my brother had been a Death Eater, and I know perfectly well how everything looked from the outside. You did the right thing – in your shoes, if anything, I would probably have tried to sneak into Azkaban and kill me. I would have welcomed it, to be frank,” he adds, in a deadened voice. “I just wanted you to know that I will never forget myself for suspecting you of being the spy, and for shunning you. It was the worst decision I've ever made, and I will pay for it for the rest of my life.” 

Remus doesn't stop to think about what he's going to do, he just closes the distance between them and envelopes Sirius in a desperate embrace. 

“Forgive me,” he sobs, to the back of Sirius' head. “Forgive me. I should have known you'd never betray James and Lily. I don't deserve you.” 

“There's nothing to forgive,” says Sirius, firmly, turning to face Remus. His eyes are red, but his face is dry. “If anything, I'm grateful that I am able to be here in your arms again, talking to you. I never allowed myself to picture your face, when I was in Azkaban, because I knew that it would have driven me out of my mind. You're everything good and beautiful I've ever had in my life, Remus, and for that, once again, I'll never stop being grateful.” 

Remus holds him closer, convulsely, desperately trying to stop his own sobbing. He's crying like he hasn't cried in fourteen years. Suddenly Sirius – poor miserable Sirius, twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit, half-starved, hiding in caves, his name ruined, a ghost of the man he once was – is holding him, comforting him, whispering soothingly into his ear. Remus' heart bursts with affection. 

“I love you,” he sobs, before having time to decide if it's a good idea. “I love you, I love you, I love you...” 

“I love you too,” says Sirius, cradling Remus' face with his fingers. “We will never be apart again. Promise?” 

“Promised,” says Remus, trying very hard to steady himself, staring deeply into Sirius' bloodshot eyes. “Never again.” 

Sirius nods, and then — like the previous fourteen years had been nothing but a nightmare — he grins at Remus before kissing him on the mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sure hope "go to Aberforth and take it from there" was actually what Dumbledore meant Sirius to do the night Voldemort came back, because I think Mundungus Fletcher lives all the way down in London and Mrs. Figg is in Surrey and Sirius was, you know, in Scotland and wandless and a wanted convict. 
> 
> "Yeah, sure, just turn into your dog form and run the lenght of the country, I guess? I really don't feel like making a couple of fireplace-calls. Thank you ever so kindly. See you later."


	2. Chapter 2

It takes them four tries to manage a proper kiss without one or both of them breaking down into either sobs or hysterical laughter. When they finally get to it, to Remus' overwhelming relief, it's just as good as he had dreamed it would be.

“Merlin's beard, mate,” he says, quite breathlessly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Pull yourself together. We're grown wizards!” 

“We are,” confirms Sirius, his face wet and splotchy. He looks like he's about to start laughing again at the slightest provocation. “We're properly middle-aged at this point. We should definitely know better,” he adds, in a rather accurate impression of old McGonagall. Remus laughs. 

“Speak for yourself, old man,” he says, wagging his finger. “I'm still in my early thirties.” 

“We are both thirty-five!” 

“Yeah, but I'm still _months_ younger than you,” sighs Remus, in the tone of someone explaining an unfortunate but basic fact of life. “And you, my poor friend, are a relic of the Fifties.” 

“Well, at least I haven't taken to dressing like my father,” retorts Sirius, and Remus laughs until there are fresh tears coming out of his eyes, because he's never really thought about it, but it's _true_ that he has at some point started wearing the same exact kind of robes his dad would wear back when they were in school. 

“Robes are very practical,” he says, trying to sound dignified. “And comfortable.” 

“Do you also wear a nightshirt and a nightcap to bed? I bet you do,” says Sirius, glancing inquisitively around the room. “Does the nightcap have its little pom-pom?” 

“I do _not_ wear a nightcap to bed!” 

“Well, no, of course you wouldn't _now_ , it's summer,” concedes Sirius. “Even though I bet even in June the nights get chilly enough around here. You probably have a summer-weight nightcap stashed somewhere, just in case.” 

“I had forgotten how annoying you can be,” says Remus, beaming. “I think I will write to Aberforth and ask him to please come fetch you at his earliest convenience.” 

“Aberforth _definitely_ wears a nightcap. I bet he would be glad to compare his collection with yours, if you asked nicely.” 

“Oh, do shut up,” says Remus, throwing a pillow that Sirius barely manages to dodge. “And it's quite hypocritical for you to be wearing my clothes while talking such rubbish about them. You should most definitely take them off,” he suggests, in a hopeful tone. 

Sirius raises one eyebrow in such an extremely Sirius-y way that Remus feels his head spin. 

“Fair enough,” he says, with a shrug. There's a very peculiar light in his eyes, one that Remus knows perfectly well and likes very much. Sirius takes off his robes. Remus' trousers, cinched at his waist almost to the point of absurdity, look like they would fall right off him if it weren't for the belt. “I don't have anything against trousers,” he muses. “So maybe I should keep them on?” 

“Don't you dare,” says Remus, leaning back on his elbows. “Keep going.” 

Sirius grins, and suddenly all that's missing from this striptease scenario is a school tie hanging from his neck. 

“Very well,” he says, taking off his undershirt. Remus forces himself not to flinch at the way his skin is stretched tautly over his ribcage. Sirius undoes his belt, and his trousers – as predicted – fall down around his ankles. “I reckon it's your turn now,” he says, standing there in just a pair of Remus' boxer shorts. He's still smiling. _I've never been more in love with him than I am now_ , thinks Remus, his heart pounding in his chest. 

“I think it's fair to warn you than I've taken to exclusively wearing long flannel underwear,” he says, getting to his feet. “Sure, they might not look particularly sexy, but once you get to a certain age it's imperative that you focus on keeping warm... Sirius, I'm _joking_.” 

“I know you were,” says Sirius, sounding affronted, but he still looks slightly alarmed. 

“That's my underwear you're wearing, you twit,” says Remus, working on the buttons on the front of his robes. “Did you think I would keep a courtesy pair of boxer shorts around just in case someone happened to drop by and ask to borrow them?” 

“That sounds exactly like something you would do, yes.” 

“What does that even mean?” says Remus, grinning down at his belt buckle. “It sounded like you meant it as an accusation, but honestly it just makes me sound like I am a considerate, thoughtful host. Which I am, so I reckon I probably should just appreciate the fact that you noticed, given how completely ungrateful you generally are...” 

“Shut up, Lupin,” says Sirius, giving Remus a shove that almost sends him flying backwards onto the bed. Remus stumbles, laughing, but manages to stay on his feet. 

“Well, Sirius, I am frankly appalled at the idea that you would lower yourself to physical violence in the face of resounding rethorical defeat,” he says, but on the inside he's overjoyed by the display of strenght on Sirius' part. _Not quite as frail as he looks, is he now?_

“Take your trousers off or I'll jinx you,” says Sirius, trying very hard to keep a straight face. “My patience has its limits.” 

“All right, all right, here you go, no need to get all threatening,” says Remus, and now he too is standing in just his underwear. He smiles, trying to gauge Sirius' reaction to the way his body looks now. 

“You have a lot of new scars,” says Sirius after a brief silence. Coming from anyone else, Remus would probably find the statement insensitive – but he knows perfectly well what's on Sirius' mind, so he takes no offense. 

“It's not your fault, Pads,” he says, quickly. “You were in bloody Azkaban. I reckon I was better off transforming alone than you were sitting there in a prison cell.” 

“Still,” says Sirius, trailing his finger over one particularly vicious scar on the side of Remus' stomach. “I should have been there for you. Are you still taking the Wolfsbane Potion?” 

“Not every month,” says Remus, wishing Sirius would just drop the subject. “I'm not exactly swimming in gold, so I only send for it if there's no other option.” 

“Will you allow me to buy it for you?” 

Remus sighs. Gold – Sirius' easy access to it, Remus' dismal prospects – has always been a great source of disagreement between them, even back in school. 

“You know how I feel about taking gold from you,” he says, trying to keep his tone even. 

“My mother is dead,” says Sirius, without any trace of emotion in his voice. 

“Oh. My condolences,” says Remus automatically. Sirius gives him a look. Remus blushes. “Well, what did you expect me to say to that?” 

Sirius shrugs. 

“I don't care about her and you shouldn't either. But the fact that she croaked means that everything belongs to me now – the gold, the jewels, that ghastly old house. I have more riches than I could possibly spend in a lifetime, but what good are they to me if I can't share them with you?” he says, and Remus supposes he can sort of see where he's coming from. “So please, will you?” 

Remus doesn't answer. 

“You know, the forest behind the house is actually large and remote enough that we could probably get away with spending the full moon there,” he says instead, trying to appeal to Sirius' reckless side. 

“Do you transform outside?” asks Sirius, astounded. 

“No, of course I don't,” mutters Remus, hating that Sirius would think him capable of such a selfish act. “Not alone, I would never. The house has a cellar. But now that you're here...” 

“It would be fun to run with Moony again,” concurs Sirius, and Remus can't fully decide if he's just humouring him or if he genuinely thinks it's a good idea. “On purpose, this time,” adds Sirius, trying and failing to make a joke out of it. Remus feels a fresh wave of guilt come crashing down on him. 

“I will start taking the potion again every month,” he promises, sheepishly. “And I will be extremely grateful if you want to help me pay for it.” 

“Remus, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way,” says Sirius, looking very concerned. “I was just trying to be funny.” 

“I know,” says Remus, reaching out to take Sirius' hand. “But you are right. If we're going to be together – this time properly – I need to be able to put my pride aside and let you help me. And vice versa, obviously.” 

Sirius beams, squeezing Remus' hand. 

“Just imagine how pissed off my relatives would be if they knew I'm spending their gold on my half-blood werewolf boyfriend,” he says, gesturing grandly with his free hand. “Selling off all of their bloody Dark Magic trinkets to keep you in luxurious flannel underwear and extravagant silk nightcaps.” 

“You better knock it off with the nightcap talk if you want me to keep being your boyfriend,” says Remus, but he's laughing. “Although, to tell you the truth, I wouldn't say no to some nice flannel long johns for the winter. It can get really cold around here.” 

“You said you were joking!” says Sirius, throwing his hands up in outrage. 

“Well, I'm not wearing them now, am I?” 

“You are not,” confirms Sirius, hooking a finger under the band of Remus' boxer shorts in an exploratory fashion. Remus catches himself sucking his stomach in. He doesn't have a belly, exactly, but he's certainly not as skinny as he used to be when he was seventeen, either. He wonders what Sirius will make of it, but then he glances at Sirius' stomach – concave from years of hunger, his hip bones jutting out – and he feels bad for being so shallow and vain. “Thankfully,” adds Sirius, with a smirk, and he lets the elastic snap back in place. 

“Ouch!” 

“I'm sorry, did that hurt? Want me to kiss it better?” inquires Sirius, and there's no way someone even marginally less sexy than he is could ever get away which such a corny line. Remus laughs, shaking his head. 

“Go on, then,” he allows, staring deeply into Sirius' beautiful eyes. Sirius grins – it's a grin that holds enough promise for Remus' knees to go weak in anticipation – and motions for Remus to sit on the bed. Remus obliges. Sirius comes closer. 

“Take those off,” he orders. “I need to see you naked right now, or I will lose my mind.” 

Remus shimmies out of his underwear. It's been ages since he was last naked in front of someone, nevermind in front of _Sirius_. Sirius doesn't say anything. Remus feels absurdly self-conscious all of a sudden. 

“Everything as you remembered?” he asks, trying to diffuse the tension. 

“You're so beautiful,” says Sirius, and it might be a trick of the light, but for a second Remus thinks his eyes are looking suspiciously shiny again. “I had forgotten how beautiful you are. And your cock – Merlin's beard, Remus, that cock is _outstanding_.” 

“Yours isn't half-bad either, as I recall,” says Remus, flushing with pleasure. “C'mon, show me.” 

Sirius takes his undewear off. Remus lets out an involuntary moan of approval. Sirius grins. 

“You weren't so easy to fluster back in the day.” he comments, amused. “Been a long time?” 

“Yeah,” says Remus, truthfully. “Years.” 

“What a waste, Moony,” says Sirius, pushing gently on Remus' chest to make him lean back on his elbows. “Someone as hot as you are really shouldn't deprive the world of their beauty. That was a very wicked thing for you to do, do you realize that?” 

“There isn't anyone out there who could possibly hold my interest once you came and went. You spoiled the whole thing for me, that's what you did.” 

“Oh, did I? Really?” says Sirius, now kneeling between Remus' legs. “Well, that's my bad. Is there anything I can do to put it right?” 

“Yeah,” says Remus, grabbing a fistful of Sirius' short hair. “You can suck me off.” 

“Well, I reckon that can be arranged.” 

** 

Afterwards, Remus finds that he can't bring himself to leave Sirius' side, not even for a minute. Something inside him tells him that it's definitely a dream, and that Sirius' peacefully sleeping form would undoubtedly disappear if he were to take his eyes off it. Remus holds him close to his chest and gently runs his fingers through his hair, thanking his lucky stars for the fact that Sirius is asleep – he would never stand for something like that if he were awake. At least, young Sirius never would have stood for it. Present-day Sirius seems much less fidgety, from what Remus has seen. 

_No wonder_ , says another voice inside him, _you'd be touch-starved too if you had spent twelve years alone in an Azkaban cell_. The thought makes Remus' heart ache, and he ends up giving Sirius such a strong squeeze that Sirius actually wakes up with a start. 

“What the... oh, hi,” he says, his eyes focusing on Remus. “I fell asleep, didn't I? What a lousy lay,” he mutters, his voice thick with sleep. “Did you want to go again?” 

“You were the opposite of lousy,” says Remus, stroking his cheek soothingly. “It was amazing, and I did not mean to wake you up. It's very late. Go back to sleep, I'll see you in the morning.” 

“Yes,” confirms Sirius, beaming. His eyes are closed. “We will see each other in the morning. How perfectly brilliant, my love,” he says, and in that moment Remus loves him so much that he thinks his heart might explode out of sheer joy.


End file.
